Ryan picked up the leather baseball and threw it up slightly in the air to get a feel for the weight.
Staring down at the baseball in his hands, its scuffed surface rough against his fingers. His dad had given him a few pointers on form and how to pitch properly. He wound up just as Andrew had shown him, trying to replicate the techniques. His arm came around, foot planted — and the ball sailed... far to the left, making it a dead ball if a batter stood in the bat box.
Thud.
It smacked into the thick padding of the batting cage wall instead of hitting the strike zone as intended. Ryan blinked in disbelief.
"Uh... am I that bad at pitching?" Ryan thought.
"...Not bad," Andrew reassured from the side, half-lying.
Ryan looked at his father and scoffed, "You don't have to pretend. That pitch looked like it would have hit the batter no matter what he did. It would've been better for him to come to the bat box with the umpire's gear protection."
Andrew chuckled. "Control takes time. Don't stress it so much, practice makes perfect after all. Power means nothing if you can't control the trajectory of the pitch. You will have catchers balding before they retire if you keep sending wild balls."
Ryan chuckled and picked up the next ball to throw. His fingers didn't feel comfortable along the seams. Memories of Major League pitchers explaining how holding a baseball felt to them and how their pitches felt, but to him, it felt like a rock in his hand.
Whoosh
Thud.
To no surprise, it was another wild ball that would be considered a dead ball during a game.
Andrew walked over to the batting cage wall and crouched down to retrieve the ball. "You thinking too much?"
"Probably." Ryan rubbed his wrist. "This doesn't feel like batting. At least I feel excited doing that. This just feels like I'm mimicking for the sake of it. It just doesn't give me the same joy."
Andrew looked at him with an expressionless face. "You don't have to force it. Not everyone is meant to be on the mound."
Ryan sighed in relief and gave a simple nod. "Yeah, I just wanted to try but... I don't think I'm a pitcher."
He expected disappointment or maybe a sigh from his dad, but Andrew just nodded, smiled at him, and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Then we move on. That's how the game works. You try, you learn, and you adjust to the circumstances — if you manage that, you will have an easier time controlling the field."
"Control thefield?" Those words struck a chord in Ryan, he couldn't place his finger on it but it felt... fun?
Andrew and Ryan walked back towards the batting zone where he could continue practicing. On their way, they passed cages where kids were hitting off machines, trainers barking tips, and an adult who seemed like a special trainer working with a lefty pitcher who moved like water — fluid, confident and precise.
That... wasn't him. Ryan could only throw mediocre pitches, if not worse.
PAH
A loud echo came from a cage. Ryan looked into the bullpen where he could see a catcher with a baseball in his glove. The catcher stood in a catching stance, like a steady unmovable fortress ready to catch any pitch that comes his way.
The catcher threw the ball back to the pitcher, who, in turn, threw another pitch into the mitt of the catcher. This time a sharp fastball — and the pop of the glove echoed cleanly. The catcher stood there like an unmovable mountain, not even flinching at the pitches coming his way.
Another pitch. This time, a breaking ball, curving late. The catcher anticipated it, shifting just enough to catch it properly.
PAH
Ryan was stunned.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
He felt a pulse of excitement. The calm command, the way they seemed to know every batter's weakness and their own pitcher's psyche. They were the silent masterminds of the game. The brain behind the plays.
"Control the field." came to his mind watching this scene.
"...Dad," Ryan said, eyes still locked on the bullpen, "Can I try that?"
Andrew raised a brow. "Catching?"
"I know it's tough, but I want to see how it feels like catching those pitches."
Andrew followed Ryan's gaze and understood. "It's a whole different mindset, very tactical and quick reflexes."
"I like that. I always liked that part of the game. Catchers read everything. They're not just reacting — they're thinking two steps ahead."
Andrew smiled at the words, "Alright, let's grab a mitt and go outside. Might be better to start outside with light pitches before we try the bullpens."
Outside, in the worn-down grass field behind Slugger's Den, Ryan tugged on a borrowed catcher's mitt that felt like a giant oven mitt. He knelt behind an improvised plate — just a chalk outline on the grass.
Andrew stood about fifty feet away with a bucket of balls.
"Start easy," Andrew called. "Focus on the catch and tracking the ball."
Ryan nodded, tensing his thighs in a half squat. The first pitch came in soft, the ball slapped the thick leather, and it didn't feel clean. He shook his hand. "Okay, that's... heavier than I thought."
"Want a mask?"
"I think I'm good." Pause. "Actually, I'll take it just in case."
Ryan pulled it on and got back into position. He stared out at his dad, glove up, and gave a small nod. The second pitch came in straighter, and this time, he caught it more solidly. There was a different kind of satisfaction to it. It wasn't about force. It was about control.
Pitch by pitch, he improved. He adjusted to the glove's weight, the bounce of the ball, and the angles. He dropped a few, fumbled others, but adjusted quickly, improving steadily. Something felt right catching. The idea that he could guide the game starting with the pitcher, he could observe the minds of opponents and pitchers alike.
Andrew began throwing fastballs, mixing them in. Ryan guessed wrong twice, missing badly. But the third time, he caught it clean.
"That's more like it!" Andrew called.
Ryan grinned. Sweat beaded down his face. He felt alive.
He flopped down onto the grass with a grin.
Andrew sat down next to Ryan, quiet for a while and smiled.
"You seemed to have fun," he finally said.
Ryan nodded. "I don't know how to explain it but everything just... made sense? I wasn't thinking so much, it felt like I naturally flowed together with the ball."
"Catching takes more than fast reflexes, son. You've got to analyze, anticipate and direct. It's about leadership. Catchers often end up as team captains for a reason."
Ryan glanced at his dad, uncertain. "You think I could do that?"
Andrew smiled and glanced back at him. "I think you were already trying to back there."
Ryan smiled in response and didn't say anything more.
They walked back to the reception area, returning the gear. As they left the building, Ryan felt a strange warmth in his chest — not just from the workout or the praise, but as if a rock was lifted from his shoulders.
He failed at pitching, and now, it felt like he had found his path.
"Come on we got to hurry home, it's getting late. Your mom will scold me if we came home too late hahah!"
That night, after a hot shower and a change into dry clothes, Ryan flopped onto his bed, eyes tracing the ceiling.
He was about to grab his phone, but then -
[ DING! ]
[User's Path Has Been Found. ]
[ System Binding To Host. ]
[ System Binding... Success. ]
Ding
[ System Notice ]
[ Host position path has been updated: General -> Catcher ]